Treadmill Goals/Tracking

• Get on the treadmill (or equivalent exercise) daily
• Pace is fine at 30 min/mile, although I may up it on occasion
• Time range between 30 minutes and 1 hour per day
• Distance 1-2 miles per day
• Read the chosen book. I’m officially modifying my original rule of not reading the book-of-the-week off-treadmill. I’m usually going to look at length and try to divide it up somewhat evenly per day, even if that means either closing that book early (if it’s short) or continuing after (if it’s long).

Week 161: December 22, 2019 – December 28, 2019

DAY	PACE	TIME	DISTANCE
Sunday	30 min/mile	35:00 min:sec	1.1 miles
Monday	30 min/mile	30:25 min:sec	1 mile
Tuesday	30 min/mile	30:43 min:sec	1 mile
Wednesday	30 min/mile	30:14 min:sec	1 mile
Thursday	30 min/mile	30:04 min:sec	1 mile
Friday	30 min/mile	30:31 min:sec	1 mile
Saturday	30 min/mile	30:16 min:sec	1 mile

What I’m Reading

Note: Although I will try to avoid them, my weekly reading snippets may or may not contain spoilers, so read at your own risk.

What I #amreading: Most Wonderful Time of the Year, a JMS Books Trio including Four Christmases by Nell Iris, Gingerbread Dreams by K.L. Noone, and Keeping Up with the Icicles by R.W. Clinger

My favorite lines this week…

(The longest of the three stories got the extra day.)

✿✿ SUNDAY ✿✿ Four Christmases by Nell Iris

As I approach, he brushes off the hood with his hand, revealing his face, and I stutter a breath. Dang, he’s grown up nice. When he’s not hunched over, he’s tall—and inch or two over my own six-feet-one—and muscular and broad all over. His hair is buzzed completely off, his ears sticking out a little too much, and a neatly trimmed beard frames and draws attention to pink, thin lips. His eyes are dark, almost black, and suck me into his gaze.

✿✿ MONDAY ✿✿ Four Christmases by Nell Iris

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He frowns. “What for?”

“For always making you wait. For never prioritizing you.”

✿✿ TUESDAY ✿✿ Gingerbread Dreams by K.L. Noone

A not insignificant amount of those viewers commented on his hair, his cheekbones, his eyes. They seemed to like dark messy curls, sharp edges, icy pale green glares art burnt edges or melted ice cream. Marcus, when shown some of these comments by their social media team, had said, “What on earth do they mean by ‘I’d literally die to have Marcus LeGrand insult my failed cupcakes on national tv’? Or ‘please roast me like you did that contestant’s lemon tarts’? I mean, I do understand why this person means, but…why?”

✿✿ WEDNESDAY ✿✿ Gingerbread Dreams by K.L. Noone

“I like this. You’re very sweet.”

“And you like sweet.”

“Perhaps I do. Sweet, but surprising. You’re not afraid of anything.”

“I am. Broken gingerbread. Rosie getting hurt. Not being good enough. You giving me that disapproving look, you know the one, everybody knows that one. Though you don’t like that, do you?”

✿✿ THURSDAY ✿✿ Keeping Up with the Icicles by R.W. Clinger

The front door of the Tudor pushes open behind Bobo. Pam steps out on the stoop. She holds the front door’s wrought-iron handle with one hand while her other hand rests on her left hip. In typical Pam fashion, she yells through the falling snow, “Bobo! Get in here and stop running around the neighborhood as an elf! You’re embarrassing your wife!” Her eyes are almost fist-size snowballs. “Your junk is hanging out and you’re making a scene! Have some manners! Have some couth! I can’t believe you work with kids in that outfit! Put some real clothes on, young man!”

Most of her yelling is false. Part of Bobo’s junk isn’t hanging out. Truth is, all of his private parts are pushed inside the green leotard. Although his outfit doesn’t leave anything to one’s imagination, he’s still covered in all the proper areas. Such a good Bobo.

✿✿ FRIDAY ✿✿ Keeping Up with the Icicles by R.W. Clinger

Jonah walks to the front of the igloo, a narrow and short tunnel. He falls to his hands and knees in the snow and crawls inside.

Sandy sits cross-legged. Light from the outside world illuminates his seated frame. “How’d you find me?”

“It wasn’t difficult. Your footprints.” Snow crunches under his palms and knees.

“You’re a regular Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“And proud of it,” Jonah says, squeezing through the igloo’s tight space. “Is there room in here for me?”

“Only if we hug.”

✿✿ SATURDAY ✿✿ Keeping Up with the Icicles by R.W. Clinger

As if on cue, another unfolding scene in the holiday play called Keeping up with the Icicles, the leading actress enters from the left; the hung over, frizzy-haired, dry-lipped, crossword-working diva, and matriarch of the family, Pam Icicle. Her first lines are: “Why have I lost my mind? What are the three of you talking about? Are you children throwing me under the proverbial bus again?”